


Ranking

by DarthSuki



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: F/M, He doesn't like it when someone makes them not smile at all, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Kevin doesn't like it when his assistant isn't smiling, M/M, Protectiveness, Reader-Insert, Strexcorp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:03:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: In Strexcorp, ranks are a very important factor in understanding the hierarchy of employees, supervisors and managers. It's generally understood that someone of low rank has no authority over someone of higher rank, and the numbers are always worn on the employee badges mandated by Strexcorp. You have to deal with people of higher ranks all the time while working in the Desert Bluffs Community Radio Station, and sometimes they try to abuse that.But Kevin?He doesn't ever wear a badge.





	Ranking

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a request made on my WTNV writing blog. If you would like to submit a request or check out my other related work, [go check it out here!](https://wtnvwritings.tumblr.com/)

You can’t breathe.

Though there is plenty of air around you--a fair surplus of it in fact--you simply can’t draw in the breath to get it into your lungs. The thoughts needed to do so are elsewhere in your brain, lost to the chaos of the moment that made the entire world feel as if time has stopped completely. Your muscles feel tight and your eyes are wide, hands shaking as you clutch so tight to the clipboard between your fingers, the object held up against your chest like some sort of pitiful shield.

“You know, I’ve seen you around a lot,” Comes the voice of a snake, spilling from the lips of what otherwise looks like a man. “You’re Kevin’s little pet, right? Always running around the studio like some sort of lost puppy.”

He has the face of a man and the eyes of a man and every other piece of what you may assume belong to a human, a male human, though he’s anything but--his eyes are hallow and lifeless and yet they still. feel. so. cold. He stares down at you in a way that makes you feel disgusted, makes you feel vulnerable and week.

And you can’t do a damn thing about it.

There’s a badge on the man’s chest, one that reflects just enough light so that you can see what’s written upon it:  _Rank 13._

Your own badge? Rank 5.

Though they are but numbers, what’s written on his badge makes you want to cry or scream (though neither is honestly an option). It means that you can’t get angry at him. You can’t tell him to leave you alone. You can’t do anything but stand there, a smile forced over your lips and your voice dripping with a facsimile of light-heartedness that the very sound of it makes you sick to your own stomach.

“You know how it is!” You force the words from your lips, hoping that he catches the venom behind them. “He’s always got a job for me to do! Printing out scripts and collecting research and-”

“You know, you could have a better boss than him.”

The man speaks casually but his words sound as if he’s not even listening to you. As if he doesn’t even care. You suppress a shiver and try to meet his eyes, try not to let the dangerous look in his expression make you cower, no matter how terrified you feel.

“I don’t...know what you mean,” You say smoothly, stepping back just a hair when it feels like he’s pressing too close to you. The man, without breaking eye contact, takes another step closer.

“He can’t protect you,” the words sound like poison on the air, like venom and layers of distinct danger that you want to stay far, far away from. “A cute little thing like you will be torn apart in Strexcorp--I can get you lots of nice things, if you quit your position and work with me over in the marketing department.”

He reaches out and wraps a hand around one of your arms. The grip is so tight that it’s almost painful.

“Wouldn’t you like that? Extra minutes and maybe even a day off--” He takes another step closer to you, getting too close, way too close, you can feel his breath and his stare on your skin. “No reason someone like you should be stuck here with a man like  _him_. I mean, all you’d have to do is be a good little pet for me and-”

He stops. All of a sudden, the man just stops speaking. You look up at him after a moment, fear and confusion mixing in your expression to find that he’s not even looking at you anymore, but to something a few steps down the hall to the side.

With a held breath, you risk a glance in the same direction.

The sight of a familiar face, scars and pitch-black eyes and too-wide smile, cause you to lose yourself for a moment with a faint sob, quickly muffled behind a hand to try and hide that you simply can’t keep a smile on your face anymore. You can’t, not when tears are starting to distort your vision.

Kevin merely looks at the scene in front of him, smile wide and cold and  _dangerous_. You’ve only ever seen that look on him twice before, and neither time it had ended well for the person who earned that look from him. 

“I was wondering where you had gone off to!” Kevin says as he looks to you, his words a touch too hard for the fake joy to sound even mildly honest. “And here I thought the printer was acting up again.”

The man takes a step back from you at last, his focus entirely on the other man, the air growing tense.

“I’m so sorry for keeping your assistant,” he said, so gently and measured for having made you so uncomfortable. “We were just having a little talk, can’t help but tell some jokes to my coworkers in the radio department!”

Kevin’s look doesn’t fade, doesn’t fall, does’t change. His smile is static, which looks all the more disturbing to someone who isn’t around him often. Scars are not an uncommon sight upon Strexcorp employees (especially the oldest ones) but Kevin’s are...well. The stuff of nightmares at the worst of times, and it doesn’t help that his clothes, his hands--they always look bloodstained.

“A joke?” The question is forced and hard and sharp. The radio host takes a step closer, his face looking momentarily under one of the lights of the hallway and--

Well. There was a reason he had a voice for radio than a face for TV.

Kevin’s lips finally move into a wide, sharp, open-mouth grin, hands settling on his hips. Every movement of his body is tense. Sharp. 

Restrained.

“You should tell  _me_  the joke,” he says at last, and it’s only then that you have the sense to look at his chest, only now noting that Kevin...doesn’t wear a badge at all. He simply has a name tag of some sort, pinned to the front of his shirt. “I always love the excuse for a little laughter during the work day, after all.”

There is a moment of silence, an obvious parsing of thoughts before the man finally fumbles over his own words. He glances to you, then back to Kevin, then tries to save what’s left of the situation with a sheepish, fake chuckle.

“Oh, I dunno, it’s a pretty stupid one.”

Kevin takes another step closer.

“Tell me the joke.”

Your offender tries to speak, perhaps another excuse or a way around the subject, but it’s only then that the radio host looks at you, really looks over you, keeping your tear-filled gaze for several seconds--

And the smile drops. Only for a moment, a split-second flash of something dark and red-filtered, and Kevin’s lifeless eyes turn back to the man.

“I noticed that my pet isn’t smiling.”

Kevin’s eyes get a little wider, his smile a little sharper, his jaw muscles a bit tenser. The air feels so hellishly cold, like the warmth has been sucked right out of the hallway, like you’ve been dropped right into the arctic.

_Oh no._

“I uh--of course! I saw that too,” the man looks hopeless now, a mere fragment of the self-confidence he had when he had you against the wall mere minutes before. “So I decided to talk, you know, to put a smile on-”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish the sentence as Kevin abruptly steps forward, throwing an arm around the other’s shoulders and neck.

“How thoughtful of you!” He says sharply, pulling the man towards him. “You know, it’s moments like this that make it so worth working here at the radio station--all these wonderful  _relationships_  we have.”

Kevin ignores the protests of the man tucked in his iron-tight grip, his smile getting wider, so wide that you have to wince in pain  _for_  him from how it tugs at the stitches at the corners of his mutilated mouth.

“...and it makes me  _ **especially happy**_  to do this.”

But that’s when you have to look away, dropping the clipboard with a loud noise and raise your hands up and over your eyes.

But you can still hear it.

A scream, though that noise is shortened, cut-off by the sudden sound of ripping, rending flesh. It's wet and disgusting, broken only briefly by the sound of bones snapping and muscles tearing--then, finally, two dull thuds on the laminated floor.

You stand there shaking, hands still over your eyes and mind still trying to filter through all of the emotions that linger from when the man had you against the wall. You can still feel his breath and eyes and hand on your skin, the sound of his disgusting voice saying disgusting things, and the tears start spilling down your cheeks.

Before you can let out the first soft, small sob of noise there are hands gently grabbing your wrists, pulling them down so that the light of the hallway blinds your eyes for a moment, so that you can glance up and see the entirety of Kevin’s face taking up your vision.

There’s blood splattered over his jaw, fresh ruby stains on the front of his shirt, but he’s smiling again and this time it’s at least mildly genuine of a look on his face.

“It’s alright, dearest,” He says gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “He won’t be a bother to you anymore. Let’s go back to the editing room together and I’ll call someone to clean this... _mess..._ up, hm?”

All you can do is nod, leaving Kevin to kiss you again on the forehead, then carefully on either of your cheeks; you can feel his tongue lick away the tears that had fallen in warm, wet rivulets down your face.

Though the cold fury is gone, there is still a tension to the man’s body.

“I’ve got you,” Kevin whispers, slowly leading you down the hallway, his voice beside your ear. “Don’t fear for a moment, dearest--I’ll never let anyone put a frown on that pretty face again.”

And that was all that was said about that man, unnamed and unimportant in the grand scheme of StrexCorp. You never did see what Kevin had done to him, and the radio host was certainly never reprimanded of whatever had happened. It was simply as if that man had never existed, wiped clean from the memory of the station.

It was so weird, so strange considering that man’s rank, considering  _your_  own rank as well. It just...was a mystery, one that you didn’t and still don’t have the care or curiosity to ask about.

You know, you never did learn what Kevin’s own rank is, considering you’d later realize that he actually doesn’t wear a badge on his chest. 

Well.

Maybe you don’t need to know.


End file.
